Time goes on. I can't remember my younger days. They were so long ago, before time forgot me, before, the disease crept up to my immune system's door. The chalk-white of the room, the beeping of the machines that are the only thing that tells me I'm still alive consumes me. I remember when it was easy. when I thought it would last forever. What I would give to do it again. Did I waste it? As it all gets farther behind me, what could I have done differently? no use, I can't go back. It's all gone, and all I have are the beeps to keep me company. I wonder how they'll be. after I ascend, leaving the world behind me. If they'll be okay. I breathe heavily, trying to get it out of my head. this is it, my act three, my last symphony. I have nothing left, besides waiting. waiting for the noise to stop. I stop and listen. I don't hear it anymore. I'm free.
I wanted to write and was listening to the black parade. I got a death story.
